


I'm Never Giving In

by FictionalNutter



Series: Giving 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dom Sam Winchester, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Guilty Dean Winchester, Light BDSM, M/M, Power Dynamics, Season/Series 06, Soulless Sam Winchester, Spanking, Sub Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6928912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionalNutter/pseuds/FictionalNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request from KreweOfImp, this is a prequel to 'Giving In.'</p><p>Dean knows something is wrong with Sam, but he hasn't figured out what yet. The issue becomes a lot more pressing when Sam gets tired of Dean being reckless and decides to lay down the law. Dean has always been the one in charge, but Sam's not going to allow that dynamic to continue any further. Dean's not giving in without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Never Giving In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KreweOfImp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KreweOfImp/gifts).



> For [KreweOfImp](kreweofimp.tumblr.com). 
> 
> FYI, everyone, this is a dub con situation. As stated in 'Giving In Is Better With You,' Dean is enjoying himself, but not completely on board with the situation. He's also being heavily manipulated. If you read through the original two installments, you should be fine with this, but consider yourself warned if dub con is not your cup of tea.

Dean  _missed_ Sam. Which was ridiculous, because Sam was back in the motel room, doing research to find them a new case. He was so different now though, and Dean felt guilty even thinking that. He wouldn't have assumed Sam would be the same after the Cage, of course not, but Sam didn't remind him of himself after returning from Hell. Dean wasn't sure what Sam reminded him of, aside from maybe their father when he was laser focused on something. That was a good and a bad thing. Sam was a great hunter with killer instincts that rivaled John Winchester, especially these days, but comparing Sam to their father was pretty much an instant boner killer.

Not that Dean had been having many of those recently. Since he'd joined back up with Sam they'd been hunting non-stop, and Sam had more or less kept his distance. Sometimes Dean got the impression Sam wanted to bridge the gap between them, but it seemed like he'd been holding back due to some sort of respect for Dean's whatever-it-was with Lisa. Of course, that was over now, and Dean had noticed more and more heated looks from Sam. Neither brother had done anything about it, but Dean didn't trust his willpower to hold out much longer. It sort of felt like Sam was allowing him a grieving period, and he couldn't decide if it was sweet or patronizing. Sam was so clinical about everything since he'd escaped the Cage that Dean wasn't inclined to attribute any kind of emotional intelligence to his brother at this point. That was the biggest problem. Before Hell, Sam had been by far the more emotionally intelligent of the brothers. Dean knew he had a right to be worried, he just didn't know why he was worried yet.

Dean felt more than heard his phone ring, indicating the scarily on the nose timing Sam had been exhibiting recently. The amount of times he'd appeared or called when Dean was trying puzzle him out recently was damn near scary. As far as Dean knew, Sam couldn't read minds, so he dismissed the paranoia just as he did the phone call, hitting the end call button without picking up and returning to his beer. Sam knew he was at the bar, and he'd be back when he was good and ready. Earlier that week, Sam had tried to enforce some sort of curfew on him, practically demanding that he be back in the motel room before eleven, "or else." Yeah, right. Like Sam got to dictate when Dean drank his alcohol. The elder Winchester scoffed at the memory, shaking his head. Well, he was almost done with his beer anyway, so he'd only be back a half an hour or so 'late.' That would have to satisfy his control freak of a little brother.

When Dean finally did drag himself away from the bar and walk the few blocks back to the motel, he found himself arriving at almost midnight. He'd meant to be earlier, hoping to offer some semblance of a peace offering with his moderate attempt at timeliness, but sometimes a chance to blow an asshole's mind by dominating darts took priority. Dean had won fifty bucks off the guy before ditching the bar, so he figured it was worth it. Turning the key in the lock, Dean opened the door and walked in, prepared to deal with whatever dark mood his brother was in. He was surprised to see Sam behind the laptop, looking completely unbothered by Dean's 'late' return.

"Hey," Dean offered, pocketing the keys and locking the door behind him, double checking the salt line.

"Hey," Sam repeated, not bothering to look up. "Anything exciting happen while you were out?"

Tossing the wad of cash on the table, Dean gestured to it and said, "Won at darts, same as usual. What do you think, enough to cover gas and beer until we get to wherever we're going?"

Sam eyed the cash with disinterest. "Colorado," he answered the implied question. "Might be a werewolf. I'll do more research in the morning." Despite the fact that the statement implied he was concluding for the night, he made no move to step away from the laptop.

"Right," Dean said, a twist to his mouth that was happening more and more as his brother's behavior seemed more unusual. More than anything it was the way he talked. It was so close to Sam, his Sam, but not quite right. Something was just... _off_. "Well, I'm going to bed." He shucked off his jeans and over shirt, leaving just the plain black t-shirt and boxers. Yawning, he meandered towards the bathroom, running through his brief nightly routine. Brush his teeth, take a piss, wash his hands, then head straight for the bed by the door. Unfortunately, as he exited the bathroom, he was confronted with a slight problem.

Sam was sitting on Dean's bed.

"Dude, move your ass," Dean huffed, ignoring the tiny niggling of dread the odd actions of his brother tended to send through his gut.

Sam smiled, just slightly, and gestured for Dean to come closer. "I want to show you something."

Dean moved forward warily, suddenly envisioning Sam like some sort of predator. He wasn't scared of his brother; he'd never been scared of Sam. He couldn't deny that something was wrong though, no matter how undefinable. He came within a step of Sam, and before he could blink his brother was in motion.

Sam reached forward with both arms, yanking Dean forward and down, knocking the slightly shorter man off balance. Taking advantage of Dean's surprise, he used his right leg to trap Dean's legs as much in place as possible, and pinned his back with his left elbow, leaving his right hand free. 

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean managed to gasp, struggling against the longer limbs holding him in place. His brother had bulked up a lot in the time he'd been back from Hell, and Dean cursed the fact that Sam's strength was enough to overpower him.

"You broke one of the rules," Sam informed him, sounding largely unbothered by what was clearly a big enough deal to make throwing his older brother over his knee a good idea. "There are going to be punishments when you break the rules."

"What rules?" Dean demanded, bewildered and infuriated in equal measure.

"You didn't answer the phone when I called," Sam reminded him, irritation bleeding into his careful calm, "and you were not back by eleven."

Now that Sam had informed him what the cause of the whole situation was, Dean did remember Sam laying down the lay, so to speak. Dean hadn't taken him seriously, although the rule about the phone wasn't unreasonable, and apparently now he was somehow getting in trouble. That was the weirdest part, and Dean couldn't feel anything but awkward about the position.

"You're not the boss of me," Dean reminded his brother, wincing when the statement came out more petulant than he'd intended. He could practically  _feel_ his brother smirking.

Sam chuckled. "I am now. Someone needs to ensure you do not engage in reckless and irresponsible behavior. Since you don't care for yourself, I'm going to do it for you. Beginning with this punishment, of course."

Dean was about to demand what the hell that meant when Sam's right hand came down with an abrupt and loud "SMACK" across Dean's ass. The hunter cried out, more in surprise than pain, and began struggling anew. "Let me go!" He growled, no longer caring how he sounded.

Rather than responding, Sam tightened his grip on his brother and adjusted his aim, applying three quick smacks with his open hand across Dean's ass cheeks, enjoying the movement the force of his hand caused. "Let's see what color we're getting," he murmured, more to himself than Dean. He pulled Dean's boxers out of the way, spanking his brother hard once when he began to protest the removal of his underwear. "Just pink," Sam commented. "We can do better."

Dean didn't have any time to formulate a response before Sam was laying into him again, seeming completely at ease with the grunts and sometimes cries that Dean was unable to repress. Tears prickled in the corner of Dean's eyes, and he blinked furiously, unwilling to show that level of weakness. What the  _hell_ did Sam think he was doing? Dean's intent was to grit his teeth and bear it until he could get his own back and knock his brother on his ass, but Sam's hand was relentless. Smack after smack, landing with unerring accuracy until no patch of skin was unmarked. Sam had a bizarre knack for practically matching his hands to his handprints, landing blow after blow in seemingly the exact same places. The fire in Dean's ass grew with each passing moment, and he became dimly aware that the tears he'd been steadfastly holding back had long since escaped down his cheeks. For as many of his tears came from pain, at least a few were out of embarrassment. He was uncomfortably aware of his erection, pinned between the lower half of his body and Sam's left leg. If he had any brain power to spare, he'd be having some sort of crisis over inappropriate boners.

Sam noted his brother's release of tears with an interested sound, but didn't slow down his blows. He did shift slightly, addressing the backs of Dean's thighs and the spot where his thighs rounded into his ass. If Dean couldn't sit comfortably for a few days, it would help the lesson sink in. With each passing moment, Sam became more and more satisfied with the coloring of the skin, the deep red indicated he'd accomplished what he set out to. He took a great sense of pleasure from the knowledge that his brother was aroused, even if Dean wasn't yet comfortable with admitting he was turned on. Sam knew it would take a few times before Dean was willing to accept the new realities of their situation, but Sam was capable of patience.

"Please, stop, enough," Dean begged, completely unaware that he was doing it. If he had been aware, he never would have allowed the words to leave his mouth. 

Sam immediately paused, rubbing at the reddened skin absently. "Why are you being punished, Dean?"

Dean huffed, trying to catch his breath. "Came back late," he managed to answer. "Didn't answer my phone."

Sam hummed in agreement. "Are you sorry?"

"Yes!" Dean immediately replied. He was, sorry that he had disappointed Sam, which was a sensation he was certain he'd agonize over later, when his brain wasn't quite as fogged. "Sorry, I'll do better."

Sam smiled, pleased. "Good. Follow the rules, Dean, that's all I ask. When you follow the rules, you get rewarded." He didn't waste any time proving his point, brushing against Dean's asshole with a lube-coated finger.

Dean started violently at the sensation, sense memory and the firm awareness of Sam making him incredibly eager, even as he spared a moment to wonder when the hell Sam had acquired lube and gotten it on his fingers. It wasn't important; Sam's fingers in his ass were important. "Please," he begged, too far gone to feel bad about it.

Sam obliged, slowly pressing his index finger into his brother's hole, the liberal amount of lube easing the motion. Dean hadn't been opened for anyone since the last time he and Sam had had sex, which was longer ago than he liked to think about. Aside from a few of his own fingers, Dean hadn't stretched himself in months. Sam was aware enough of how long it had been that he moved carefully. However, that did not mean he was going slowly. Dean had barely finished processing the first finger in his ass when he became abruptly aware that there were now three. He could feel the burn, but it was subtle and not unpleasurable, which he was having trouble wrapping his mind around. Sam had always had a knack for fingering him open, but Dean wasn't used to being so out of it when the whole process was occurring.

Apparently concluding Dean was ready, Sam took advantage of his brother's largely boneless state to shift him off of his lap and onto the bed, giving Sam the freedom to stand, his left hand splayed across his brother's back. "Are you going to stay put?" He asked, tone stern.

"Yes," Dean agreed, not willing to risk the chance that Sam might change his mind. Who cared what was wrong with this situation? It had been far too long since he'd been with Sam, and Dean wasn't about to lose the opportunity right now.

Removing his hand from Dean's back, Sam quickly unzipped his jeans and shoved his boxers out of the way, pulling his cock out and using his right hand to coat himself in the remaining lube. Satisfied, he took a brief second to appreciate his handiwork. Dean's ass was right red, with certain sections so dark Sam was positive there would be deep bruising in the morning. Pleased, he lined himself up and pushed in, not bothering to give his brother a warning.

Dean grunted as he felt Sam enter him, but cried out as his brother bottomed out, hips snapping against the sensitive flesh of Dean's freshly spanked ass. Trying to steady his breathing, Dean was reminded abruptly of how hard his cock was, and he began to rut against the bed as Sam began to move, both of their movements speeding up as a more frantic edge came over their actions.

Sam watched his brother hump the bed for friction, pleased with the obvious physical result of this evening. He knew he was close himself, and only managed three more forceful thrusts before he was coming, pressed tight against the red hot skin of Dean's ass.

Dean reacted to Sam's release much as his brother had expected him to. He came with a shout, ruining the motel comforter and slumping forward, exhausted. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around the monumental abruptness of everything that had just happened. He was dimly aware of Sam pulling out, and the sounds of his brother tucking himself away. He hadn't even gotten undressed, had he? Dean couldn't decide how he felt about that. After all, it wasn't like he was totally naked, but a t-shirt over his torso and his boxers wadded around his ankles didn't really mean anything. He distantly heard his brother walk to the bathroom, the sink running and the sounds of hand washing trickling back into the main room.

There was a part of Dean that wanted to roll over and stare at the ceiling, but he was too aware of his throbbing ass to believe that was a good idea. As he came back to himself, different things made themselves known. Firstly, his ass  _hurt_. He'd been aware of that, but his erection and the resulting mind blowing sex had sort of distracted him from the actual pain of it all. He could feel dried tears on his face, which was both embarrassing and bewildering. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had sobbed like that, not in a way that didn't center around a memory of someone dying. The come starting to leak from his well used hole was another sensation that slammed realization into Dean's mind. He'd had sex with Sam. No, that wasn't quite right. Sam had used him. Dominated him, even, though Dean was loathe to admit it. How had he managed that? Or, possible more concerning, why? Dean was actively doing his best to convince himself he'd hated the whole experience, but it was too fresh for that to be as believable as he wanted.

Sam came back into the room, and Dean forced himself onto his side so he could see his brother. "Your rules," Sam began, "are as follows. Answer your phone, no matter what. Be back in the motel room by eleven. If we're out together, or on a hunt, that particular rule is not in effect. Do not deliberately put yourself in danger on hunts. No hook ups." Sam paused, then smiled slowly. "And no excessive onions on food you eat in the car. It just pisses me off."

Dean had been more or less coming back to himself already, but hearing Sam lay down the law or whatever he thought he was doing snapped him back into the pissed off place he'd been earlier. Getting to his feet, he jerked his boxers back into place, wincing at the feel of the fabric against his ass. "Like hell," he replied, proud of how steady his voice was.

"I don't have a problem with punishing you every day until you get it, Dean," Sam said calmly, unconcerned.

"You. Are. Not. My. Boss," Dean growled, the force of his statement sounding far more significant than his earlier attempt at the same sentiment. "All of this is bullshit. You can shove your rules up your ass, and stay the hell away from mine." He turned away, planning to head for the bathroom and the first aid kit. They definitely had some cream that would make his ass more bearable in the morning.

Sam sighed, but it wasn't quite in disappointment. A clinking sound and some rustling plastic came from behind Dean, and Sam spoke up once more. "I wish I could say I believe you'd be agreeable, but I know you better than that. Don't worry. You'll learn."

* * *

 

It took three weeks in the cock cage, six more spankings, and a hell of a lot of impressive orgasms before Dean was willing to admit that he might not completely hate Sam's new dominant side. He was  _not_ giving into his brother's crazy bullshit, but he wasn't fighting back either.

Of course, then they had to go and find out that Sam didn't have a soul. He wasn't even really Sam, just Sam's body, running around without inhibitions or any moral conscious. Dean was heartbroken, horrified, and completely at a loss. How could they possibly fix this? Sam didn't even want to be fixed. The real Sam -  _Sammy_ \- was still down there in the Cage, suffering. Dean was topside, being controlled by the bastard that pretended to really be his brother. All Dean could think about was how wrong it all was, and how he could possibly free his brother.

Still, when Sam demanded Dean strip and drop to his knees, Dean only hesitated for a moment. It wasn't enough to soothe the guilt in his heart.


End file.
